


All the Kings Horses

by andybird



Series: Humpty Dumpty Sat on a Wall [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Getting Together, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Scent Kink, Slightly Public Hand Jobs, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andybird/pseuds/andybird
Summary: Ciri wasn't done. "How do you know this lady magician, Geralt?""We were once... very close. A long time ago," he said carefully."Are you not anymore? Close, I mean?"Geralt sucked on his teeth, willing himself not to think about dragons. About people he was no longer close to. "Not particularly."-It's been two years since the events on the mountaintop, since finding Ciri. Since losing his friends. And Geralt of Rivia has spent that entire time in Kaer Morhen, hiding from a world ravaged by war. But when Yennefer sends him an unexpected - and urgent - letter asking for his help, Geralt must decide if he is willing to abandon his friends to their fate... or challenge destiny.Again.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Humpty Dumpty Sat on a Wall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706863
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in a fury over the course of two days and isn't betaed. feel free to point out mistakes and such. my eyes feel like they're bleeding.

Geralt of Rivia could not sleep.

He was laying on the floor of a very warm inn, facing a roaring fire, with Ciri asleep on the humble bed beside him. They had been travelling on the road for three days straight, through strong winds and relentless rain, across two towns and up - and now back down - a mountain. His bones ached, his head throbbed and his ass was rubbed raw from being astride the saddle for so long. When he had paid for their room for the night, Ciri swayed in place beside him, barely awake or upright, and the moment they had closed the door behind them, she had collapsed on the tiny bed, not even removing her muddy cloak.

But, naturally, Geralt of Rivia could not sleep.

Even though the inn was warm and quiet. Even though he could no longer feel the pounding of the rain outside, only hear it. Even though he knew that Ciri and himself were safe, for now.

Geralt wondered how much longer that would be true. He wondered if he was making a mistake.

With a resigned sigh, Geralt stood and rubbed his face wearily. He checked the moon through the sole room in the window, a tiny round thing placed at a seemingly random height in the wall. It was half past two. Ciri had only been asleep for three, maybe four, hours. But she had ridden diligently beside him for three entire days. She deserved to rest longer.

Desperate for something to do, but not wanting to wake the girl or leave her alone, Geralt picked up his pack and began to reorganize it. He sorted his potions and elixirs (sorted them again, rather; they were already in perfect order), checked the sharpness of each of his blades (exactly to his standard, as always), counted out the coin they had for the remainder of the journey (barely enough to buy Ciri a new cloak, and she needed one, desperately), and finally, from the bottom of the sack, pulled out a well-worn letter.

He didn't need to open it or read the words; he had memorized them. They formed in his mind as he looked at the letter, still unfolded, in his hands.

_Geralt,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It must, for I am in need of your assistance._

_Though I will not be addressing personal matters in such an impersonal manner, I'm sure you are aware of the rumors. I have no use for such things. I wish for proof and, supposedly, you have it._

_I have been sent to Hyrstyrg, to their Capitol, Rumfort, to try and reason with Queen Elara. She rules along Nilfgaards' Northern border. With her aid, we may have a chance yet of defeating Nilfgaard. Perhaps. I believe, though, that my chances of turning her to our side are far greater if you were to assist me._

_Bring yourself and your treasure to Rumfort. I will make sure you are provided for during your stay. Please attend me as fast as possible. These matters cannot wait._

_Yours,_

> _Yennefer_

Geralt ran his thumbs along the edges of the paper. He still did not open it.

Two years. Two years it had been since he had seen her. Or heard from her. And now she demanded his presence in a kingdom he had never heard of, one that bordered the most dangerous city on the Continent. 

Blasted woman.

He glanced at Ciri. She was dead to the world, entirely. Her breathing was slow, face relaxed. Geralt could not remember a time when he had felt so at peace as she looked right then. He sighed deeply again.

He hoped he was not making a mistake.

Of course he had left almost as soon as receiving the letter. Vesemir tried to stop him, but Geralt was having none of it. He trusted that Yen would not have sent for him if she did not truly require his help. In fact, he trusted this with his whole being, and he had two entire years of silence to prove it.

_"But why does she need you to bring the girl? How does she even know that you have her?"_

_"Who else would have her, Vesemir? Do you not think the Mages Guild has been searching, tirelessly, for the Lion Cub? And when she never turned up? Yennefer has known; she has always known. She was simply doing us a service by not letting on to anyone else."_

_"What changed, then?"_

To that, Geralt had no answer.

And for the last three days, Geralt had ridden in silence with Ciri, doubting his own decision. Wondering if he was right to bring the girl so close to the enemy. Questioning if he should not have simply left her in Kaer Morhen. She was just as safe with Vesemir, Lambert and Eskel as she was with Geralt.

Geralt tried not to acknowledge that he could never have left Ciri in Kaer Morhen. He did not want to think about ever having to be away from her, to think about entrusting her safety to another. It was his responsibility, given to him by no one but himself.

He rotated a shoulder, cracking it satisfyingly, and tucked the letter away.

Two years. So much had changed. Ciri was no longer the frightened princess he had found in the woods, being hidden by a farmer and his wife. She was skilled with a blade now, and fearless in the face of danger. Training with the Witchers in Kaer Morhen had seen to that. 

Geralt wondered who he would find in Rumfort, if this Yennefer who had written and sent him this letter was the same woman who had left him standing on top of a mountain.

He tried not to remember that anything else that had transpired that day. Two different people he had driven away that morn, and one had graciously come calling for him now. Geralt willed himself not to think, with all the hope in the world, that someone else might someday do the same.

Geralt willed himself not to remember the disappointment on Ciri's face when they had ridden past two different inns. Tried not to remember the jovial music pouring through their doors and windows. 

Tried not to remember who those songs belonged to.

Geralt shook his head and stood up quickly, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. Ciri snorted and rolled over, smacking her lips. Her head went limp again. Geralt released the breath he hadn't intentionally been holding and crept quietly to the window. It was very easy when he paid attention.

Nearly dawn. A rooster crowed from a nearby farm. He had wasted a whole night, wasted it thinking, and worrying. 

All the same. Geralt stood, watching the sun rise, turning the sky nearly black, then varying shades of red and orange, then robins egg blue, peaking from behind dissipating clouds. The day was already promising.

The Witcher knelt beside Ciri, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She was in desperate need of a bath. 

She woke with her usual amount of resistance, sat blearily next to him as they ate a meager meal of mushy oats and overcooked beef, and had trouble putting on her saddle correctly. Geralt had to fix it for her twice before they were mounted and ready to leave, and even then, the girl wobbled as they rode.

"Where are we going again?" Ciri asked, yawning. "And why didn't we stop sooner?"

"We're going to help a... friend. Of mine."

"Where?"

"In Hyrstyrg."

"Where in Hyrstyrg?" Ciri rubbed her eye with her knuckles, pressing her lips together to keep another yawn from escaping.

"Rumfort."

Ciri gave Geralt a puzzled, tired look, but said nothing for a moment. Geralt did not share any more.

At length, she tried again. "Who's this friend of yours? And why are they in Rumfort?"

Geralt turned his words around in his head before answering her. "She's a magician. She's trying to turn the tides of the war, in favor of the rest of the Continent."

The child surprise mulled this over for a moment. "I've been to Rumfort before. Once. On a diplomatic trip, with- well, to Rumfort. And Bellhorne and Velobik." Ciri's brow furrowed. "It was... strange. The Queen was so unlike m- unlike any other royal I've met, really. They're a matriarchy, did you know that? Women rule rightfully, and each new Queen gets to choose her own betrothed! They can get things like divorces and own property and such!" Ciri grinned a small, sideways smile. "My grandmother was painfully jealous."

Geralt chuckled, low and deep. Ah, yes. That was very like Calanthe.

Ciri wasn't done. "How do you know this lady magician, Geralt?"

"We were once... very close. A long time ago," he said carefully.

"Are you not anymore? Close, I mean?"

Geralt sucked on his teeth, willing himself not to think about dragons. About people he was no longer close to. "Not particularly."

"Why are you helping her?"

Geralt did not have a ready answer for that. He was surprised, in fact, that Vesemir had not made the same inquiry. He chose not to reply. Ciri waited a moment longer, realized he did not intend to answer her and shrugged. 

"I always liked when we'd visit. We went a lot when I was little, but when I got bigger we went less and less. There was always big dances and they had the prettiest dresses there. And the music. The people of Rumfort know good music, that's for sure. But Grandmother didn't trust Elara. She didn't want me in danger and she said Rumfort wasn't safe, on account of the Queen being mad- unstable." Ciri cowed some under Geralt's gaze. Despite not being in a royal court for the past two years, the Witchers in Kaer Morhen had done their best to at least instill a modicum of manners in the girl. "Oh! And I nearly forgot about the Princess!"

Geralt smiled wanly. 

"She's a few years older than me. Well, she was twelve when I was- I think I was four? Or maybe five. I was quite young. So I guess she'd be older now. But I remember how beautiful she was. She was so different from anyone I ever saw in Cintra."

"Hmm."

"Geralt?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think your friend- this magician lady, will she convince Queen Elara to help? Rumor is she doesn't extend her aid very often. She tries very hard to isolate the city, actually. She doesn't like outsiders," Ciri told him. She chewed her lip. "Geralt, will- are we going to be allowed in? What if she says no, even though your friend sent for us? How did she get in?" She was quiet a moment longer, her head bowed in thought. When she lifted it, her eyes were fearful. "Geralt, is your- is this woman we're meeting- did you need to bring me? Did she tell you to? Are you-"

"Ciri," Geralt sighed, tugging Roach to a halt. Ciri did the same with her gelding, staring up at Geralt with wide eyes. "Listen to me closely. We can trust this person. But when we're in the city, it's imperative that we keep our heads down and give no one any cause to quarrel with us. Or notice us, in any way," Geralt said, giving Ciri a not-insignificant glance. She bowed her head, suddenly very interested in the fraying seams on her reins. "Part of that means you can't act like you've been here before. You've visited in the past as Cirilla the Princess. Now you're visiting as Cirilla the Witcher."

Ciri did not look up, but nor did she hide the beam that split out on her face. "Okay. I understand, Geralt."

"Very good. Now tuck your hair back into your cap and keep your head down. I hear a wagon down the road. I think we're getting close."

Down another half mile, and round several turns, there was indeed a caravan of dwarves setting up for lunch. Geralt smiled thinly at them and waved, and they reciprocated, but neither party initiated conversation. Ciri kept her head down. They did not know whose side the other was on.

Farther and farther down the mountain they rode, passing more and more wagons on the way. They were all full of one sort of peoples or another, either selling wares or moving on from war-ravaged homes. Geralt did not look at their faces too closely. Ciri kept her head down, riding close to Roach's flanks. They spoke to no one but each other.

Ciri recalled everything she could about the city. It was built at the edge of a cliff face, which stood some three hundred feet tall; there was a fifty foot wall surrounding the entire city, and the front gate was the only entrance. The Wall, as it was called, had been there for nearly six generations of queens, built with the intention of making the castle impregnable. Over time, though, it had been torn down and rebuilt, extending the area enclosed inside it, until now there was naught left outside the Wall that could still rightfully call itself Rumfort. The whole of the city lived inside the Wall, stacked on top of one another, with the castle directly in the center, bleeding out in every direction like a heart. Every road led directly to the center, to the castle, inside of which only the royal court was ever allowed. The citizens rarely saw the Queen and the Queen rarely saw the citizens. It had made many of the poorer, working class indignant towards her. Slowly, over time, most had left, settling in either Bellhorne, which produced mainly cloth, or Velobik, which was the fishing town father north, where the wind bit your nose if you left it uncovered too long. As a result, only the rich remained in the walls. 

"And they've nothing to do but breed like rabbits, as Eist used to say, so now there's hardly anyone who actually runs anythings 'cept a few merchants. And even then, they mostly do the clothes for everyone, and their shoes and whatnot. Oh, and there's a few pubs and inns. But I can't imagine who stays in them, if no one is allowed in the city."

 _The rich. When they're bored of their expensive homes and gaudy belongings._ Geralt said nothing.

It was mere hours until sundown when the castle came into view and with it, a bustling city gate. Everyone and their cousin was there, clambering to get to the front, to try and gain entry, or beating their retreat back through the crowd. Geralt made them stop and watch from their vantage point on the mountainside. Ciri's eyes were wide with confusion. 

_Calanthe would never have allowed this in her city. Ciri has never seen the likes of this._ Geralt regarded her carefully, waiting for her to speak.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Geralt sighed.

"War."

Ciri couldn't stop her shudder. Geralt could hardly blame her.

"They won't get in. Elara won't let them. Even if they're starving." Ciri's voice dropped. "All of the townsfolk in all of Hyrstyrg hate Elara."

Geralt leaned forward, resting lightly on Roach's neck. The horse snorted at him. "Hmm."

Ciri stared at him. "I don't blame them."

The Witcher looked at Ciri out of the corner of his eyes. "Remember what we talked about. Keep your head down. And don't let your mouth get us _both_ in trouble." 

Ciri pouted but did not reply.

They continued to pick their way down, watching the crowd thin as people made camp around the gates, or gave up entirely and began the climb back up the mountainside, hoping to try their luck elsewhere. The Witcher watched and waited, keeping them hidden just inside a woodlot. They stood beside their horses; Ciri was pulling up patches of grass and feeding them to her gelding. Geralt told her to stop before she upset his stomach and when the gates were clear of all but the guards, he gestured her to follow him. They approached the gates slowly and stopped a good length from the guards. 

"Rumfort is not taking refugees," the guard informed them before Geralt could say anything.

"We are not refugees," he replied, feigning sounding cheerful. Ciri gave him a sidelong glance. Maybe it sounded too forced. Geralt cleared his throat and tried again, "we have been called here, as aid."

"Our city requires no aid, especially not from the likes of you, Witcher." The second guard spat on the ground, sneering at them. Ciri lifted her head indignantly. Geralt nudged her with his elbow.

"I received a letter," Geralt tried again. He had encountered this before. He had never cared how people talked to him, one way or another, at least not in the past. He was painfully aware of Ciri by his side now, watching. Waiting. He was responsible for keeping her safe.

His responsibility.

"I don't give a rats ass if someone in the city's been writing you," the guard spat again. It landed at Geralt's feet. "Can't get in 'less the Queen says so."

"Would your answer change if I told you the letter was from someone in the royal court?"

"Who?" asked the first guard.

"Me."

Geralt felt a chill run down his spine. He had been distracted by the guards, by all the other townsfolk around them watching. By Ciri. He hadn't seen Yennefer approach the gates from the other side. Then, neither had either of the guards. The first guard jumped; the second shrieked in a very unbecoming manner. Yennefer scowled at him.

"Well? Are you going to open these gates and allow my guests through?"

The guards were tripping over themselves in their haste, bowing at her and rushing to open the gates. They opened outwardly, revealing two wrought iron doors, intricately carved. Geralt hadn't noticed that, either. He didn't care now.

Yennefer strode out, her hands clasped before her, her obsidian star faithfully hung from her neck, her makeup and hair perfect as ever. Her perfume... strangely overbearing. Geralt didn't remember the scent being so profuse before. Perhaps it was because of their prolonged time apart.

"Geralt," Yen said, lips pressed together in what some might have called a smile. Geralt knew better. "It's been some time."

Geralt bowed his head to her. "Lady Yennefer."

That made her laugh out loud, genuinely, and when she locked violet eyes with Geralt again, they were softer. "Ah, how very like you. Come, come, come in. Get out of the rabble." She extended her hand back towards the gate. Geralt looked down at Ciri. Yen's eyes followed and for the first time, she seemed to notice the lanky child at Geralt's side. Her lips parted in soft surprise, but otherwise gave no indication that she might know who the girl was.

Yen recollected herself. To anyone watching, it did not appear as though she had been caught off guard at all. She smiled at them both this time, gesturing them forward. Geralt tugged Roach, Ciri took hold of her gelding's mane, and they walked through the enormous wall into the city of Rumfort.

***

The streets were entirely barren as they made their way towards the center of Rumfort. The narrow, winding paths cut across and directly into the center of the city, but there was only one entrance to the castle, which faced the wall opposite the gate. As such, they had to cross the entire city to get there. Candlelight glowed in many of the humble abodes nestled above now-closed shops, the signs of which hung in the sea breeze. It had been years since Geralt had smelled anything like it. After the mountain two years ago, he'd sworn off going to the coast, that he'd never be back by the ocean. 

He did not mention what he was afraid he might find there. 

"How long have you been here, Yen?"

Yennefer glanced at Geralt over her shoulder. "I thought you Witchers had more patience than this, Geralt. Can even our banter not wait until we are inside the palace walls?"

Geralt smirked, a short smile that disappeared quickly. "I thought you said it was urgent."

"It is. And it can wait. As must many things." Yen's violet eyes flickered to Ciri, who was following obediently behind them, eyes flitting wildly from one shop door to the next. He understood her discomfort. He had never seen a city so big so empty.

"They are all in the palace," Yennefer said.

Geralt's eyes narrowed. "Who is?"

Yen let out a little laugh. "Everyone, Geralt. The whole town. This place is not like it once was. If you can afford not to, you don't sleep outside of the palace walls at night. And everyone in this town," Yen led them down a small alley way, which opened into a courtyard with a huge stone fountain, "can afford not to."

The courtyard itself was magnificent, but only a precursor for the expansive garden behind it. A garden, the Witcher quickly realized, that served a secondary purpose; the tall hedges that surrounded it also wound through it, creating a thorny maze one had to pick through before reaching the palace doors. Yen knew the way by heart. A left, a right, another right, a left, straight through at a crossroads. So on and so forth. Ciri stayed close, ushering her gelding forward and around each bend. Roach trotted along, content as ever. As far as she was concerned, these last four days had practically been a vacation.

They rounded a hedge and came out in another stone courtyard, though this one was much smaller, with no room for a fountain but stairs that seemed to pour out from the palace doors. They were huge and ornate, depicting pictures in the stained glass of mermaids and sailors, of gulls and ships, of wreckage and regrowth. Geralt supposed it was all very touching, if you knew the story. He didn't care either way.

He glanced over his shoulder at Ciri. She stared up at the doors, shaking slightly.

"Come along."

She urged her horse forward.

Yennefer did not lead them up the steps; instead, they walked by the bottom of the steps to the far most side and Geralt wondered if there was another entrance to the maze. But it was not that hard. Tucked around the side of the palace was the stable. A stableboy was dozing on a stool in front of the stalls, but he hastened over to them when he caught sight of Yennefer approaching.

"Taryn will care for Roach, Geralt. She'll be in good hands with him." Geralt handed over the reins, though he would have preferred to brush Roach down himself. He guessed that was not acceptable for someone like him, in this place, and he could not run the risk of being rude. After all Ciri had told him during their journey and the greeting they had received at the gates, Geralt was beginning to regret bringing the girl. Or even showing up at all.

Ciri glanced at Taryn, looking as though she expected him to take her gelding as well, when Yennefer spoke to her for the first time that evening. "Follow him, girl, and treat your horse to a thorough cleaning. He looks as though he could use it."

Ciri jumped but obeyed readily, following Taryn into the dimly lit stables. Geralt watched them. Ciri had her daggers; he could see the outlines of them in her pants pockets. If that boy tried anything, she'd have his balls in a jar to display on her bookshelf back in Kaer Morhen.

Yennefer was watching his reaction closely. "Do you care for her?" She asked, toying with her necklace.

Blunt as ever.

"Yes."

"Hmm." Yenna's eyes looked him up and down. "Funny. You still look like the heartless bastard I left up on that mountaintop."

Geralt scowled, fixing her with a stare. She only laughed at him, tossing her ebony over her shoulder and making her way back to the steps. "Come. Leave them. There's food and drinks to be had, Witcher, dearest."

The steps were stone, not step but numerous, and as they neared the doors Geralt could hear a great many voices and pleasant, quiet notes being played on a lute. Whomever had possession of the instrument was quite skilled; the sound was sweet yet somber. Combined with the scent of the sea on the breeze, Geralt felt suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of loss. He couldn't say what he'd lost; it felt as if he didn't actually have it yet.

Geralt followed Yennefer into the great hall, where she immediately took a sharp right, heading for a narrow spiral staircase. The dining hall sat to the left, the doors were slightly ajar, and it was from there the music poured. Someone had started singing. Geralt stood, for a moment, ears straining, listening intently-

"Geralt?"

Yen was at the steps, looking back at him. "Are you coming?"

"Where are we going? How will Ciri find me? I'm not leaving her alone with that blasted stableboy."

"Geralt." Yennefer's tone was tinged with annoyance. "Don't be impudent. I asked you here for a reason. Please allow me to disclose that reason without the fear of a child eavesdropping on us. Or anyone else, for that matter." She gestured at the stairs before her. "I've been granted private quarters in the cellar. We won't be disturbed."

"Ci- The child should be there. _I_ want her there." His tone brokered no argument. Yennefer sighed heavily, staring at Geralt with an expression of exasperation. Her eyes flitted to the dining hall. Music was still being played. A different tune. Geralt strained again to hear the singers voice. The lilt of it seemed so familiar...

"Fine," Yen snapped. "Bring the girl. I don't fucking care."

She walked down the stairs, Geralt staring after her until she was gone from sight. With a quick look at the dining hall doors once more, he set back down the stairs to the stables.

Ciri was done cleaning the gelding and looked glad to see Geralt coming to fetch her. "He was so _boring,_ " she whispered to him as they walked away. Geralt couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his cheeks.

"I'm sure. Stay close, little one. This will be a long night."

Back inside, a great chatter had arose from behind the ajar doors. It seemed the music and festivities were finished for the night; the nobles would be retiring to their rooms. Guiding Ciri swiftly but so as not to garner attention, ignoring the tingling in the back of his throat, a familiar scent he couldn't place _(fresh linen... and the sea, just the sea),_ they were down to the first landing and out of sight by the time the dining hall doors opened. 

Geralt followed his nose, which led them further down the stairs to another landing, off of which was a long, blank hallway, with one single wooden door at the end. Through it they went, into a small alcove in which two small tables stood, covered with herbs and potions and books of all sorts, ready to topple over. Ciri stared at them all.

"Geralt! Oh, Geralt, I know you said she was a sorceress but I didn't think she'd have all this! Will she let me look, Eskel was showing me back in Kaer Morhen, I can mix all-"

"Not right now, Ciri. Later, perhaps." Geralt considered for a moment. "If Yennefer allows it," he amended.

Ciri pouted briefly, then thought of something else. "Will she teach me magic? Would you ask her to, for me, Geralt?"

"We'll see. In here, Ciri." They walked through another wooden door set at the back of the alcove, which led into a drawing room, with two large, plush chairs and a fainting sofa in one corner. Three bookshelves reached all the way to the ceiling, stacked high with books, and there were huge windows looking out over the cliffs edge. Ciri was enchanted, not even noticing Yennefer seated comfortably on the fainting sofa. 

"Impressed, child?" she asked, startling Ciri. Yennefer smiled lazily at the young girl. "It's amazing what a bit of magic can do, isn't it?"

Ciri looked back and forth from Yennefer to the bookshelves, to the windows, pointing and gasping. "You did all of this? With _magic?_ Geralt, will I-"

"Ciri."

Ciri stopped talking. Yennefer looked between the Witcher and the young girl, weighing her words. Geralt's medallion thrummed. The whole castle was practically jumping with magic. Not all of it Yen's.

"So the rumors are true. The White Wolf..." Yen stared in Geralt's yellow eyes, willing him to give something, anything, away, "and the Lioness."

Ciri could not meet Yennefer's eyes. 

_Some things never change._

Geralt said nothing.

She sighed, dramatically, as she liked to do. "Fine. I guess I'd better fill you in." A carafe of wine appeared on one of the tables, along with three cups. Yennefer inclined her head towards one of the plush chairs, pouring the wine at the same time. She handed the first glass to Ciri, who took it apprehensively.

"After our little adventure on the mountaintop two years ago, I returned to Aretuza. I was... directionless. Flighty. I put everyone under a great amount of duress, mostly because they didn't know what I would do next. But I was tired of choosing things for myself. I missed, in a way, being told what to do. So I sat in Aretuza and I waited for someone to tell me what to do. Eventually, they did.

"Nilfgaard is too powerful. Fringilla is just as unpredictable as I have been in the past, except she does not wish for guidance. She follows her King, to the letter, and nothing with sway her. So, the Chapter decided it was time for a new strategy. And they felt I would excel in the post they had in mind." She handed him a glass of wine. Geralt sipped it gratefully. His throat felt like paper, the wine soaking into it like a stain.

Yennefer sat back and took a sip for herself. Ciri had nearly finished hers and her eyelids appeared to be growing heavy. Geralt held his cup just under his lips, ready to sip again, but watching his pupil as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Finally, her head lolled to the side, eyes fluttering as she settled into a deep sleep.

Yennefer stared at him.

"That wasn't necessary."

"Mm. I disagree." Yen set her cup down, staring straight through Geralt. "I believe the less this little treasure knows, the better for us all. What I'm about to tell you didn't leave the ears of the Chapter in Aretuza, Geralt, and I'd appreciate it now not leaving this room."

Geralt bowed his head and sipped his wine again, satisfied his cup hadn't been tainted.

The sorceress nodded curtly. "Thank you. As I was saying, the Chapter felt it was time for a new approach. Clearly rallying our current forces isn't quite holding a candle to what Nilfgaard has prepared. So they thought: What if we had another country, a whole new army, fighting for us? But no answer comes from across the sea, which leaves only the Continent. And there are no countries on this Continent that aren't already in this battle, except one. The one you and I, dear friend, currently take refuge in. 

"Hyrstyrg doesn't hire mages. There is not one in Velobik, Bellhorne or here, in Rumfort. In fact, we're something of a spectacle here whenever we are around. Naturally, the townsfolk are in a tizzy, trying to figure out what it could possibly mean, now that their beloved queen has a right hand." Yennefer drained her cup and poured herself another generous portion of wine.

"I've not even met the queen yet. Ciri tells me she's not quite as... beloved, as you might lead me to believe."

Yen smiled tightly at him over the rim of her cup. "Mm. She's not wrong. Well, not entirely. You see, Geralt, although outwardly it would appear I am here to serve the queen, the fact of the matter is, I'm here to have her usurped."

Geralt's eyes narrowed.

"By her daughter."

He grunted in displeasure, sipping slowly. 

"Don't grunt at me."

"Hmm."

Yennefer seethed. She looked ready to smack him. She had done before, too. Geralt remembered the sting of her nails biting into his cheek. He did not meet her eyes, though he could feel them boring into him.

Yen regarded Geralt, her lips tight. "Do not make me question if I made the right choice by bringing you here, Geralt. These are dark times and we are discussing sensitive matters."

"Right under the queen's nose, it would seem."

The violet-eyed sorceress put her cup down on the table beside her with far more force than necessary. Ciri jolted from the sound, but did not rouse. Neither party paid her any mind.

"There is so much at work that you do not understand and I don't the time to make you, so if you'd please stop interrupting. Mm. Thanks. As I was saying, the Chapter has... agreed that Queen Elara is not effective, as queen or as a pawn. Her daughter, however, is beloved by practically all in this land. Her head is squarely on her shoulders and she listens to reason. The only problem-"

"-Is that she'll never agree to kill her own mother?" Geralt guessed snidely. Yennefer ignored him.

"-Is that she has no legal right to the throne. Yes, I am aware, she is the princess and much loved here in Hyrstyrg, I just said. But she is a product of the Law of Surprise." Violet eyes broke from yellow ones for a moment to glance at the little blonde in the chair. Ciri had managed to bunch her legs up into the chair; her head rested on her knees as she dozed. Yen's gaze drifted back to Geralt. "The Queen could not produce an heir, not with her first, second or fifth husband. So she invoked the Law of Surprise and was gifted a daughter as a result. Princess Aella is far more agreeable than her queen mother, but many of the higher standing citizens of Rumfort question her authority. And her right to rule after her mothers death." 

"Yen."

"Hmm?"

Geralt placed his now-empty cup on the table beside him and clasped his hands together. "What am I doing here? I'm no diplomat. And it doesn't sound like you called me here to be one, but it likewise doesn't seem very _like you_ to call upon a Witcher to dispose of a royal. That math makes no sense, even to a mage." Yen chuckled mirthlessly, but did not reply. Geralt waited a moment. "So. I ask again. What am I doing here?"

Yennefer regarded him in silence for a long moment, swirling the contents of her chalice. Geralt remembered a time when he found it hard to look away from that gaze. Now he found it hard to sit so close, to be expected to maintain eye contact at all. After a longer moment of silence, something about the way Yen stared at him and everything she had just filled him in on hit and he leaned back in his chair.

"Ah."

Yen smiled again. None of them thus far had been very genuine. 

"What sort of monster?"

"I don't know. But the Queen refuses to take action, except to open her doors in the evenings to her subjects, so that they may be within the safety of the castle walls when it appears." Yen drained her second glass and threw the empty cup into the air, where it vanished with a tiny _pop_! "The Princess, however, has been less idle and is far more invested. She loves her people. _She_ is the one who called for you, Geralt. Not I."

Geralt turned this over in his head. A detached Queen. A Princess with essentially nothing to gain. Ravaged townsfolk. An unknown monster. A war with a country who's King sat on a throne not 200 miles away. A little girl who could change the fate of the entire world, wine-drunk at the moment. And him. And Yen.

"What's the payment?"

For the first time that evening, Yennefer was taken aback. Her eyebrows came together and her mouth dropped - but she quickly composed herself. "There's a war on, my good friend."

"Mm. Times are hard for all. Witchers are not excluded from those who suffer from lost profit during wartime."

Yen sniffed. "I was hoping you wouldn't worry about profit so much at a time like this. After all, it's not as though you are not already directly involved-"

"That's another thing." Geralt leaned forward again. "Why'd you have me bring Ciri? The only place she'd be in more danger is if you had told me to go to Nilfgaard direct. This is no place for her. She should have stayed in Kaer Morhen."

"Ha! And been trained by that old Vesemir, hiding in his mountains, accepting only scraps of information about the outside world? No, Geralt, that is no place for this Child Surprise to stay. She needs to know how the world is working. She is instrumental to the fate of us all, though I haven't the faintest clue why. Yet. I will have, eventually. In the meantime, though, I thought she might serve a more useful purpose here. As you've already said, Ciri regaled you with tales of this city during your travels. She was just a babe, so I am not concerned that any of the courtesans might recognize her; all other royal pups look the same to them. Nor even the Queen. It has been an age since Elara and Calanthe even spoke and even longer still since Elara last saw Pavetta, or Ciri, for that matter. No, the only person who might recognize Ciri here is the Princess. And that, dear, is precisely why I asked you to bring her." 

The Witcher's eyebrows knit together. This was no making as much sense anymore. Yennefer sighed in exasperation.

"Honestly, you can be so thick sometimes. The Princess _adored_ Cirilla. When she received the news that Cintra had fallen, and Calanthe and Ciri with it, she wept, inconsolable for days on end. Aella does not believe in this war and she certainly is not proud of her mother's tactics. If it were up to that girl, the rest of the Continent would have as many armies as desired, and Nilfgaard would be wiped off the map. When Aella sees Ciri is still alive, it will give her hope. And if she knows that Ciri is with you and I, she will give us her full attention, always, and heed all we say. We just have to choose our words carefully."

"No, Yenna." Geralt stood and looked down at the sorceress. " _You_ must choose your words carefully. At dawn, I am taking Ciri back to Kaer Morhen. She's not a pawn, Yen, she's a child. A child who rode four days to see a city she hadn't laid eyes on in years, and now I must tell her it was all for naught and take her back. She'll be very disappointed."

"More so in you, I think, than you are ready to admit."

The two stared at each other, yellow on purple, neither ready to admit they were wrong about anything. Ever. But Geralt stomach twisted into uncomfortable knots every time he thought about hiding Ciri away in Kaer Morhen. She loved training and learning the tricks of the blades, but she was, at heart, a Princess, and someday, a throne awaited her. But that was only the case if the world survived. Likewise, Yennefer would clearly have no luck at all on her own. If Geralt were to leave and take Ciri with him, Yennefer's whole mission would be for nothing and she would have to abandon Rumfort and return to Aretuza, where the Chapter would have to formulate a new plan. And who knew what Nilfgaard would be up to by then.

So the sorceress and the Witcher stood, locked by a stalemate, where neither would accomplish what they wanted without the others help. And neither willing to admit it.

Geralt caved first.

"We'll stay."

Yennefer released the smallest breath of relief. "Thank you, Geralt." She smoothed the front of her dress into place and nodded her head at Ciri. "I won't burden you with any more for the evening. Your journey was long, but we have longer still before we will be finished here. Pick her up and follow me. I've arranged a room for the two of you, here in the castle, by the grace of Her Majesty." Yennefer rolled her eyes. "The monster-hunting and the queen-killing will have to wait, for now. Come, this way."

Back up the spiral staircase, into what was now a dimly light foyer (the dining hall was empty and the doors stood wide open as to prove it), down a hallway, up a different set of stairs, round many corners and through several doors they walked, Geralt carrying the slumbering Ciri, trying to keep at least 6 paces between himself and Yen. The smell of her was too much. He wondered idly how he'd ever been so enchanted by it.

"Here." She stopped in the middle of a narrow hallways and gestured to a wooden door. An identical one was set into the stone opposite it, occupied by the minstrel from the dining hall; Geralt could hear the faint strumming again. It twisted his stomach into knots. Whoever was the owner of the lute was very lucky, as the instrument was in pristine condition and finely tuned. 

Geralt smelled the sea breeze again, and fresh linen. His stomach untwisted some. 

Yennefer held the door open for him, but did not enter. As he brushed past her, heading for the large canopy bed under the window, she gently touched his elbow. 

"Geralt."

"Hmm?" The man with the white hair stopped and looked down at the mage. She seemed uncertain. At length she spoke again.

"Thank you. Truly. I had no one else I could count on. So."

Geralt stared down at her. "I thought you didn't need help."

Yennefer scoffed at him, but her eyes twinkled brightly. "I don't _need_ help, ever. But it is nice to know that there are still some in this world I can count on. I had been... unsure, about you. After our last parting."

Geralt nodded slowly. His expression was carefully controlled. "I am glad to help, Yennef- Yen. I am glad to still be someone you can trust. There are others I left up there that day that would likely not say the same." Geralt tried very hard not to think of his name or his face or the look on his face when Geralt-

"Get some sleep. You need it." With one last small smile, Yennefer retreated back through the door, pulling it shut behind her. Geralt could only here the singing in the other room if he focused with all his might now. 

_Hmm. Thick walls._

He deposited Ciri unceremoniously onto larger of the two beds in the room, threw a duvet over her and walked over to the windows. They looked down into the magnificent courtyard through which they had come and beyond the wall of hedges rose the Wall itself, beyond which splashed the sea, unaffected by everything happening. The door to the room across the hall opened and shut again; Geralt heard someone trot down the hall and to the steps. Something about the way they walked felt familiar. And there was the smell again. The sea breeze and fresh linen...

No one was laundering at this time of night.

Geralt was exhausted. He laid down and listened.

The shutter creaked in the breeze. The door on the other side of the hallway opened and then shut again. Someone walked down the hall. Somewhere in town, a dog barked. Geralt felt the ache of the last four days to his core. He smelled no monsters here, not now. It seemed tonight, the whole world slept. 

Except, of course, for Geralt of Rivia.

Groaning, Geralt rubbed his hand down his face. Why. They had arrived. They were with Yennefer, whom Geralt was trusting wholeheartedly not to get them all killed. They were safe in a palace, on the most comfortable beds coin could buy, and tomorrow they would have breakfast and baths and Geralt would find out what this monster was and Yennefer would continue her attempts to persuade the Queen to fight and Ciri- well, Geralt hoped against hoping that Ciri would keep her head down and stay out of trouble. Maybe that stableboy, Taryn, would allow her to work with him for a day. Ciri would hate that.

The Witcher's thoughts were running in circles, running all the way back to Kaer Morhen, when he heard the lute start up again. It truly must have been a fine instrument indeed; the quality of the strings was clear each time they were strummed, the sound echoing through the courtyard. The musician had likely heard Yen and Geralt outside his door and gone into the courtyard so as not to disturb anyone. The man was doing scales as he tuned the instrument (it hardly needed it) and after he was satisfied with the sound, began to play in earnest.

All the while, pouring with crystal clear quality through the window Geralt had left open.

Aching and groaning, he righted himself and strode over to the window, intending only to grab the shutters and latch them shut, when the bard below began to sing along with his melody.

_"...with Geralt of Rivia,  
Along came this song..."_

Geralt's heart leapt to his throat. The Witcher approached the window cautiously, peering into the courtyard. His vision was incredible, but not so good as to see who was sitting on the bench in the courtyard, for they had chosen a corner shrouded in darkness. The faint smell of the sea breeze and fresh linen reached Geralt. He thought he might be sick. 

_"He came up to me,  
_ _A master of deceit,_  
_Stole me from my path,  
_ _And then led me astray-"_

Geralt's stomach had twisted itself into a veritable knot this time. Glancing at Ciri (who was still blessedly asleep, thanks to whatever Yennefer had spiked her drink with), he crept quietly to the door and out into the hallway. 

Before he could stop himself, he was running.

Running back down all the hallways and passages Yennefer had led him, back through doors and even through a few that did not go where he intended. But he couldn't stop. That voice. The melody and words he had heard many, many times in the last two years, but none sang the way _he_ did-

Even when he reached the great hall, which was empty and dark now that all the royals had nodded off, he did not stop, rushing directly to the gigantic front doors and pushing them open with all his might. They were surprisingly light, he realized, stumbling through them and down the first three steps before he regained his balance. And then he was practically running down them, around the corner towards the stables, where he could see a small stone bench set against the hedges. A figure sat hunched over his instrument - the lute, Geralt could see now, was beautiful, and so familiar looking, though more worn now - plucking and tuning, humming softly, sadly to himself. His head was down, but when he heard Geralt's frenzied steps making their way across the stone courtyard, he lifted it curiously.

Blue eyes locked with yellow ones. Geralt heard the sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth.

"Geralt?" 

Geralt stopped short. The man rose, slowly, lute still strung across his chest, though the Witcher could sense the subtle tremble of his hands, smell sweat beading on his forehead. 

_Fresh linen... and the sea breeze..._

"Jaskier."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy whatever has happened here. i feel i've had very little say in it.   
> no beta, please feel free to help me right my wrongs.

"What the _fuck,_ Yen!"

Geralt's fist landed on the table, hard, sending cutlery flying off of plates and toppling over several cups. Yennefer snatched her goblet before it could topple over, scowling at Geralt.

"Stop that," she snapped. "You're upsetting my breakfast."

"You've upset my... everything!" Geralt growled back, vibrating with barely repressed rage. She pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow with a bemused expression on her face, taking a sip from her cup, which only added fuel to the fire. He was half-tempted to knock that stupid cup out of her hands, but refrained. Only just.

"Don't be so melodramatic, please. It's too early. I'm not even dressed yet. What time is it, even?" Yen leaned back in her chair and yawned dramatically. She would not meet his eyes.

White hot anger pulsed in Geralt's ears. "Don't change the subject!"

Geralt had burst into her room mere moments before, unannounced, but she had looked unsurprised, if not a bit miffed. Geralt didn't care. He was practically boiling, having not slept yet again, and Yennefer was awfully fidgety. She sighed, heavily, and leaned forward again, putting her cup down, but not letting it go; instead, she took hold of the round base and began to spin it in circles in a distracted manner. "And what subject is that, exactly?" Finally she looked up, meeting his eyes. Her lips were in a tight line.

Geralt stood up straight and walked slowly around the table, until he stood next to Yennefer, who remained seated, but followed him with her sharp violet eyes. She was holding her breath.

The Witcher pulled out the chair beside her and sat in it heavily, listening. Ciri was in just the other room, bathing four days worth of dirt away. Being very quiet.

Trying very hard to hear their conversation.

Geralt was thankful, not for the first time, that she did not have his hearing. He straightened himself, inhaling deeply, then fixed Yennefer with a stern glare.

"You might have mentioned that Jaskier was here," he said, more quietly than before but still forceful.

The enchantress raised her eyes in fake surprise. "Oh, is he? How wonderful. He was always good for a laugh. I've been looking for a reason to laugh, but there's so few these days."

"Yen."

"What, Geralt?" Like that, Yennefer hardened like stone. Her tone turned sharp and her eyes were icy. "What was I supposed to say? If I'd told you, you never would have come!" Yennefer scoffed, smacking her open palm on the table. "Knowing you, you probably wouldn't even have written back!"

The white-haired man scowled, but said nothing. Yennefer glowered at him.

"Yes, that's about what I thought. Two years - _two years_ , Geralt. Absolutely nothing. Not one word from you! Yet all I heard, day in and day out, was that Geralt of Rivia had taken the-" Yennefer dropped her voice to a low hiss and leaned close. Her breath smelled of bacon, but off. "Well, let's just say I stopped the Chapter more than once from showing up unannounced on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen! You've hardly kept Ciri a secret from anyone, yet you think that the end of the world comes in the form of a broken-hearted bard when you are literally in a castle filled with death! You don't know who is your friend here, if any of them, but what you did find was the one and only man who might still help you, yet you are hell-bent on making him your enemy!" Yennefer sat back, breathless, and smoothed the front of her dress. Distractedly, she took a bite of her toast, made a face, and threw it back down with a disgruntled sigh. She would not look at him, but Geralt was happy with that; he didn't know what his face was doing at the moment.

"I'm sorry," Geralt offered finally. Yennefer's shoulders sank and she let out a mirthless laugh.

"Oh, Geralt, you always were a fool. I don't want your apology; I don't need it. It was just as much my doing, leaving you there on that mountaintop. But nor do I want an apology that means so little. Look at you, you don't even know what you've apologized for!" Yennefer stood up abruptly and walked over the window. Her view was of the town, which suited her much better. The sorceress could see everything from her room, every street and little alley. Every dark corner. She stood for a moment, observing quietly, then turned back to the Witcher. "Geralt, I've been here about three months, but Jaskier has been here much longer than that."

Geralt's stomach dropped uncomfortably but he held Yennefer's gaze. "What do you mean by that?"

Yen's eyebrows rose. "What I mean, Geralt, is that Jaskier has made quite a living turning a pretty penny here in Rumfort. He is loved and comfortable and useful, Geralt. He has become just as vital a piece in this plan as you are!"

"I see. So you want to use him for information. That's all very well, Yenna." Geralt waved his hand dismissively. "And you are right, about part of this whole thing, at least. If you had told me he was here, I would not have come. But for Gods' sake, why didn't you have the grace to warn him about my arrival?"

"It's not just that I need information, thank you very much." Yennefer had already spent an awfully large amount of time scowling at Geralt in less than a day. "I'll have you know I actually enjoy his company these days. Don't laugh, I'm being very serious. And as I've said, he's made himself very comfortable here. I didn't want to upse-" Yen stopped short, sounding a bit as though she had choked on something, but Geralt didn't find the sound very funny. She'd tried not to say it, but he understood anyway.

 _Jaskier is upset at my being here. He would have left if he'd known I was coming. Yennefer needs his help. She needs Jaskier here._ Geralt said nothing, just sat silently with the stone in his stomach. The Witcher tried very hard not to acknowledge that this information hurt, or that the hurt was tinged with betrayal, or that the betrayal was entirely unfounded and hypocratic: He had just admitted that he would have had the same reaction. He could hardly blame the man.

And yet... bitterness bubbled up inside his stomach. Jaskier had been here, in Rumfort, barely four days away from Kaer Morhen, where he must have known the Witcher-

Geralt shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. They were distractions, nothing more. Who cared what Jaskier did or why. Wasn't that the point of leaving him on that mountaintop anyway? Yennefer let out a short, snipped laugh. "You loved the attention, don't deny it!" Her voice dropped again. Ciri was still taking a remarkably quiet bath. "And I don't think you'd spend so much time missing-"

"Enough, Yen!" Geralt growled. "And stay out of my head!" Yennefer's mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowed and she turned away, to gaze back out the window.

The air that hung between them was thick enough to cut and lightning practically danced in their eyes. Geralt looked away first. Yennefer scoffed at him. "Whatever. You know you're in the wrong."

"I've never been wrong about anything before in my life. And I've heard enough." The Witcher kept his eyes fixed on a banana in the fruit bowl. It was the same size and shape of regular bananas but something about it was just slightly... off. Geralt stared at it until his eyes began to water and only then did he look back at Yen. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes were boring into the white-haired man like daggers. He held her gaze.

She waved a hand in defeat. "Fine. Fuck it. Let's move on." The sorceress picked up a large, flat brush and sat down in front of her vanity, yanking it roughly through her curls. She met Geralt's eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "Queen Elara is holding court today, with her most trusted advisors, so that some important matters may be discussed. I expect you there and I expect that child to not be there. Find her something to do, Geralt, and keep her away from the Queen and the Princess. I trust only one other person here with her safety, as well as their ability to keep her identity quiet."

"Hmm."

"I'm serious right now, Geralt. Because this," Yennefer said, waving a hand quickly at the door, which swung open to reveal Ciri standing behind it, fully dressed, "simply will not do."

Geralt's eyebrows shot up. He had not heard Ciri get out of the tub. Her pale blue eyes stood out against the rising red in her cheeks like forget-me-nots in a field of poppies.

"I'm sorry," squeaked Ciri quickly. "I was- I was just- I heard you- There was a lot of yelling and I-"

Yen held up her hand and Ciri quieted instantly. Geralt realized it was a mixture of fear and respect, as he detected no magic being used.

 _Ciri doesn't listen to me like that,_ he thought grudgingly.

"Cirilla. I know exactly how much you heard just then and there is only one part of it that concerns me and it is that you act appropriately in the court. Geralt has already told you many time, I know, that no one here may know you are the Lion Cub, but I think it's necessary to take a step further, even. Everyone here knows about Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra, but no one need know that person is you. This would be made easier if you did not go by Ciri here in the castle."

Ciri nodded quickly, her eyes wide in her tiny head, but she said nothing. Yennefer raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't mean that you have to be a mute, child. Tell me, what are you called?"

Ciri's face flushed anew, having not expected to be put on the spot, but two years of training with Eskel suddenly burst forward in her mind and she took on a comfortable, relaxed demeanor and replied, confidently, "My name is Pavella."

Yennefer raised her eyebrows but made no comment. "Very well, Pavella. You may go."

Ciri, still flushed, bowed swiftly, turned on her heels and raced from the antechamber, leaving Geralt alone with Yennefer. He stepped through the doorway and turned around. Yennefer was already disinterested, having turned back to her mirror.

"She can't do that, Geralt. Keep her out of trouble. And take a bath." The sorceress stood up and began unlacing the corset to her nightgown, which Geralt had only just noticed was not, in fact, a gown, but two separate articles of clothing. The shirt and skirt that Yennefer was wearing for bedwear were made of thick, heavy material which shimmered slightly as Yen moved. Upon closer inspection, the material was woven with intricate patterns, waves and birds and clouds that wound their way up and around the skirt. All of the designs were the same color as the skirt, blended together so that they were only visible when they shimmered.

_Strange fashion here. Ah, just as well._

"I'll do my best. Yenna?"

"What?"

"You said there was one person here you would trust with Ciri. Who was it?"

Yennefer stopped and threw her hands up in exasperation, clutching at her neatly brushed curls. "My god, Witcher, how you test my patience! What does it matter?"

"Why? Who is it?"

"As I just said, it doesn't matter."

"Yen, who is it?"

Yennefer's violet eyes were aflame when she looked at him. "The only person here you won't talk to."

And then the door slammed shut in his face.

*** 

Geralt bathed as quickly as possible (the water was not half as warm as he usually liked it), dressed in clothes Yennefer procured for him (which were made of the same strange and heavy material as Yen's dressing gown, though, as with all the clothes she gave him, the tunic was too tight under the arms for his liking) and marched back to the room, having scrounged up a measly breakfast for Ciri out of Yennefer's uneaten scraps. Geralt strained his ears as he reached their room. No sound could be detected coming from behind the door across the hall.

In the room, Ciri was dressed (her clothes were far plainer than what Geralt himself was currently dressed in, and far more ill-fitting), sharpening her sword, with a book spread out on the table before her. An atlas.

She looked up as he entered, but did not move. "Is she always like that?"

Geralt sighed and placed the plate of food down on the table in front of her. "Yes."

"Mmm." Ciri began unceremoniously shoving toast into her mouth, followed by a forkful of eggs. She made a face when they hit her tongue but swallowed. "There was music playing from across the hall earlier, while you were bathing."

Geralt stopped midway through pulling his sword holster over his shoulder, but caught himself and cleared his throat. "I'm glad to hear you came directly back here."

"Yes. I figured I could wander later."

"Mm. Ciri?"

"We're meant to call me Pavella now, aren't we?"

"I can call you Ciri here."

"Did Lady Yennefer tell you that?"

"You can just call her Yennefer. And no."

"Will she get mad?"

"Ciri."

Ciri stopped shoveling fruit into her mouth long enough to swallow. She gazed up at Geralt, who did not know where to begin.

"I want you to practice your balancing today. You may only go between here, the courtyard in front of the castle, and the stables, do you understand? Speak to no one and if you're asked, use the name-"

"Pavella," Ciri offered helpfully.

"-yes, Pavella. Tell them that." Geralt sat down beside her and gently took her hand. She stared up at him, her expression a mixture of unease and resolve. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the gulls crying over the wall, and the crash of the waves on the rocky cliff far below.

"Are you frightened?" Ciri asked at last. Geralt scoffed.

"Always. What are you thinking I should be afraid of, specifically?"

Ciri shrugged. "This place is weird. I don't remember much of it but I remember it has always been a bit of a blight to the rest of the Continent. And now there is talk that the Queen is mad. And you have me to take care of and Lady- I mean, Miss Yennefer to worry about-"

"Ciri."

Ciri's mouth snapped shut. Her lip quivered slightly. Geralt squeezed her hand in his.

"Ciri. I am prepared, each new morning, for it to be my last. I cannot spend time worrying about the why's or the how's. It will happen to me, as it happens to us all. But I cannot live in fear for something that has not yet come to pass. We must simply take each new moment, each new threat, as it comes. We can try to prepare, as best as we can, but in the end their will always be something that we could not anticipate. So we must not try to. We can only approach some matters one at a time, as they appear before us. Do you understand?"

The little blonde beside him was very quiet and her eyes had gone very distant, but she nodded. Geralt nodded back, feeling unease. He kissed the top of her head.

"Good. Thank you, Ciri. Now, behave yourself and practice, as I told you... It'll be no good for either of us if I bring you back to Lambert and you've forgotten everything..."  
Ciri sheathed her weapons and followed Geralt into the hallway. He walked in front of her but his exquisite hearing still allowed for him to hear her pause and press her ear to Jaskier's door. Instinctively, and entirely against his will, Geralt pricked his ears, hopeful... yet in vain. Jaskier was not in his room. And Geralt was not surprised by it.

"Come along, Pavella," Geralt called, his tone harsher than necessary. Ciri scampered to catch up to him.

At the bottom of the first flight of stairs, they met Yennefer, who regarded them both for a moment. She was dressed in her usual choice of black, though this dress was different in a way Geralt could not quite place. The heavy skirt was pleated and each time she moved, new design and characters emerged from within the folds of the dress. Though the clothes hugged Yennefer's shape, they did not restrict her movements in the slightest. Despite this, she looked uncomfortable.

"Those clothes don't fit you properly, child," she said at once, without a proper greeting. Ciri shrugged at her, adjusting the sleeves so that they rested just above her elbows. They slipped back immediately. Yennefer made a sound of disapproval.

"That won't do, not if you'll be here for any extended amount of time. Geralt, bring her to my room this evening and we'll have those clothes adjusted to the poor dear."

Ciri grinned. "I'll get to come back to your room tonight? Will you show me what some of those plants do? Please?" The 'please' was tacked on the end as a clear afterthought, though a pleasant one. Yennefer laughed and Ciri looked entranced.

"One matter at a time, girl!" Yennefer's smile was warm and bright as she looked down at the little Lion Cub. "But I don't see the harm."

Ciri squealed in joy, jumping in place. Geralt felt some fear melt from his shoulders. Ciri acted so little like a royal anymore. There was hardly any danger of anyone looking at her too long, of anyone recognizing those blue eyes and that blonde hair. She was just another castle runt, making noise and causing trouble.

All the better for them.

The three of them began to walk down to the great hall, Ciri walking some paces behind, though clearly trying to eavesdrop as Yennefer filled Geralt in on who it was he was meeting and the importance of their role.

The council for Queen Elara, as it turned out, was one of the smallest he'd ever heard of. There was her head of guard and militia, a man Yennefer described as wholly unpleasant, who was called Racen. He was in charge of finding the monster that had been troubling the town of late and, as such, he was the man Geralt would be working with to find the creature.

Next there was the treasurer, a eunuch named Calen, whom Yennefer seemed to spare little contempt for. "He's a useless, blithering idiot," she said testily as they made their way down a set of curved stairs and stepped out into a hallway nearly identical to where Geralt and Ciri's room was. "The Queen chose him because she figured a eunuch wouldn't blow all of the royal reserve on prostitutes but she forgot to take into account his more, ah, how shall I put this... expensive tastes."

"Such as?"

"Clothes and gemstones, rare breeds of animals and... other... creatures. He doesn't breed them, just studies them while they're locked in cages, stealing their magical properties until they shrivel and die, dressing himself in clothes more expensive than the Queen and Princess... If this whole city goes bankrupt before this war is over, there'll be no debate as to whose fault it is."

"Mm."

"I am, by a technicality, a part of this council. As advisor. The Queen does not leave the city walls for anything and receives most of her external information from spies. I stepped in to make sure the information was... accurate." Yennefer's violet eyes flicked to Geralt's face but he gave nothing away. It was none of his business how she was altering the news in her favor. He was here to kill a monster. That was all. The rest was formalities.

"There are two ambassadors here, one from Bellhorne and one from Velobik. I use that term lightly. They are hardly ambassadors; they eat every word the Queen spits at them and then they reiterate it to the people in their own towns as 'Queen's Will'. Bah! They're as useless as she is."

They had reached the great hall. Without so much as a goodbye, Ciri trotted past them and out the giant front doors, which were propped wide open again, as they had been the day before. Geralt watched her go, trying to quell the panic blossoming in his gut. When she had disappeared from view he returned his gaze to Yennefer, who was watching him carefully.

"I've only ever seen you love someone this much once before," she said airily. There was no hostility in her tone. She was simply stating a fact.

"Mm. And then it left me on top of a mountain after dragging me on a fucking dragon chase."

"I wasn't talking about myself, Geralt."

He opened his mouth to retort but before he could get the words out, Yennefer's elbow connected with one of his ribs sharply. Geralt looked up to see a small group of people emerge from a hallway at the top left of the stairs.

Queen Elara emerged first and Geralt found himself, for the first time in a long while, taken aback. She was far taller than what he had expected, standing nearly two heads taller than Yennefer, her expression was sour and pinched, though her eyes were unpleasantly wide. She wore long, golden trousers that flared out around her feet with each step forward and a bejeweled shirt with a collar that stopped just below her chin. The hood of her sweeping, multi-colored cloak was pulled up over her head and atop it sat the largest, most comical crown Geralt had ever seen. Beside her, just a few steps behind, was the only person who would have qualified as a 'Princess', given the appearance of the 'Queen'.

Aella looked for more pleasant and less hostile than her Queen Mother, though no less otherworldly to Geralt's eyes. Her hair fell in long, decadent curls around her face, but with each bounce it revealed different shades of green. Geralt wondered if it was customary here to dye ones hair fanciful colors. Her tunic was cinched at her waist with a woven belt and the skirt was split four different ways up the sides and front. Each step she took revealed dark purple leggings and knee-high boots that looked less fashionable and far more practical than any other piece of clothing present. Geralt adjusted his shoulders, hoping to relieve the pinch in his armpit.

"Don't fidget," Yennefer scolded under her breath. "That one to the left of the Princess is Calen, in the blue trousers. And at the far back, that's Racen. The one on the right is the ambassador from Bellhorne, his name is Hal- Hal- Halmet, I believe. And behind him, that's the ambassador from Velobik. She goes by Gaila."

The Queen had descended the stairs and spotted Geralt and Yennefer where they were hiding - technically only standing, but this castle had so many alcoves and shadowed areas - and flashed them a wide, insincere smile.

"Ah! My beautiful Mage!"

Yennefer smiled tightly and curtsied. "Your Highness. I trust you slept well last night."

"My best yet, dear! My, my, sometimes I can't believe I've resisted having a wizard in my court for so long. The wonders you people are capable of! It's almost enough to make me ask you to stay forever!" The Queen's face remained cheerful, but her tone and the glint in her eyes was far more sinister and the double meaning in her words was not lost on Geralt or Yennefer, who merely curtsied again and did not reply. Geralt shifted uncomfortably. It was suddenly not so mysterious to him as to why the eunuch was allowed to keep monsters in the castle basement. The Queen looked as though she had handpicked a fair few of them herself.

"Lady Yennefer," spoke the Princess from beside her mother, "my apologies, but who is your guest?" There was no insincerity in her tone. It seemed in every way possible, the Princess was her mother's polar opposite. Geralt bowed to them both.

"Geralt, of Rivia, Your Highness. The honor is mine." Geralt took the Queen's hand and kissed it gently. Her skin was salty on his lips.

She laughed. It sounded hollow as it echoed in the wide entryway. "Indeed, so it is!" The Queen retracted her hand as though Geralt's touch had burned it. "Now. This way. We've much business to discuss and I wish to have it over and done with as soon as possible, so we may commence the festivities!" With two reverberating claps, she turned brusquely away from them and marched into the dining hall. The eunuch, the military general and the ambassadors followed on her heels like whipped pups. Only the Princess remained. She smiled pleasantly at Geralt and Yennefer, who she stood roughly a head taller than. Yennefer did not seem to mind.

"Please, won't you be joining us?"

Geralt bowed to her again. "But of course, My Lady." Princess Aella laughed. It sounded silvery and genuine. Geralt held out his arm to her and she slipped her hand around it fluidly, then allowed him to lead them towards the dining hall. Yennefer followed behind them. Her expression was very resigned.

Geralt quickly realized why. The Queen and Princess sat at a long, wooden table at the front of the room, while the others gathered on the steps at their feet or requested that Yennefer conjure them comfortable seats at random intervals in the hall. She did so every time, though not without a theatrical hand gesture and an equally theatrical eye roll.

And then they all began to yell at once.

Though there were only seven of them in the hall, Geralt had never heard such a cacophony. After only a few minutes he began to feel that an angry banshee was quieter than these ambassadors and advisors. Yennefer looked thoroughly unimpressed with the display as a whole.

It was hard to make out what was being said exactly, but Geralt understood the gist of most of it. There was no money coming from the tradesmen with the gates closed, but there was no where to put those displaced by war if they were to open the gates. The monster had not been sighted in nearly two weeks, with the last death being that of an as-yet unidentified merchant. There was war everywhere and everyone was expected to partake, so everyone was wondering where the Queen wished to send troops and aid.

In all of this she sat quietly, merely observing. Her daughter fidgeted beside her, though kept equally as quiet.

After what seemed like an entire hour of this, the din finally tampered off and all eyes were on Her Majesty. She regarded those before her coldly. Geralt sensed there was no love lost anywhere in this exchange, that she held a certain amount of distaste for every face before her. He wondered if her strange, ethereal daughter was counted among those.

At length, she spoke, her booming voice reverberating through the room. "I have had enough of this. Day in and day out, always you present the same complaints, yet no solutions. And yet," Elara smiled wanly, spreading her arms wide, "here we sit, inside a castle, untouched by any supposed enemies, with two weeks since the last attack! Is this not progress, for the sake of progress?"

"Your Majesty," Yennefer said, for the first time all day. Her voice was thick. "Surely there is something that can be done. Your people, they cannot hide away in this castle until the end of the war. And though there may be a reprieve in the attacks, surely you've noticed similar patterns in the past. Whatever this creature is, it will attack again. Is there not even one other option?"

"No." The queen was still smiling, but her tone had taken on an icy quality to it. Aella's eyes were closed and her face looked drawn and weary. "I see no other solutions. My merchants and craftsmen are happy to be allowed inside the castle, away from the danger of this phantom monster that no one has even seen yet! And the war? I piss on it. It's not my war. No, I see no need to lose happy, healthy soldiers to bloody battle and infected wounds." The Queen shrugged, her expression still unnatural. "It is not our fight. Why should we participate?"

"What sort of wounds does this monster produce on his victims?" Geralt asked, daring to speak for the first time. The ambassadors looked up in shock, having forgotten he was even there. Aella met his eyes and opened her mouth to answer, only to be bowled over by her mother.

"Gruesome ones, darling Witcher, the likes of which I will not have repeated in my court. Perhaps our dear Mage has kept one of the bodies in preservation, so that you may look upon the wounds yourself." The Queen glanced at Yennefer, her eye bugging out. Yennefer did not hide her scowl.

"I did not, Your Majesty. I was not expecting any sort of interruption from the attacks, to be sure."

"Ah. Such a shame. Well, moving on," Elara lifted her head and grinned broadly. Geralt was thoroughly discomfited by her expression, which was not happy in the slightest. Aella kept her head down, staring at her hands. "I wish to discuss the festivities of the coming evening!"

The other advisors all let out shouts of agreement, but Yennefer huffed and turned her back on the Queen, glowering out the large window behind her. Clearly she had done this all before, time and time again. Clearly she had hoped something might be different with Geralt's presence. He offered nothing.

The five who had dominated the conversation were enraptured by discussions of the 'festivities', which Geralt quickly concerned was simply the name they used when they allowed the merchants to sleep inside the castle. Though there was clearly a feast of some kind, as well as much dancing and generous drinking, they alluded mysteriously to another event that would be happening that evening, but did not elaborate to Geralt. He did not ask them to. For the rest of the discussion, Yennefer kept her back turned to all of them, Geralt included, and Aella did not meet his eyes again.

These discussion went well into the afternoon and it was nearing sunset before they all emerged from the dining hall. The Queen and her advisors immediately trotted off to a different part of the expansive castle, lost in their own discussion. Only Geralt, Yennefer and Aella remained in the great hall.

"Well," Aella began. "That went... better than many, many other times."

Yennefer scoffed. "Only because it didn't end with a dagger at Calen's throat. This time. The day is young, though." Yennefer stretched and flexed her shoulders, pulling at the sleeves of her gown. She looked up at Geralt. "In case you couldn't tell, that accomplished almost nothing."

"I gathered as much. And you've been doing this for three months, you say?"

"Mm-hm." Yennefer's eyes blazed. "Truly infuriating, isn't it?"

Geralt nodded once. His blood was pounding in his ears. He had not had to partake in such tomfoolery under the guise of work in a long, long while.

Geralt looked up at Aella, who had still not left. He noticed, now that he was much closer to her, that her eyes were nearly the same shade of strange green as her hair. He wondered again which was natural.

Yennefer sighed loudly beside him, drawing his attention to her. She was adjusting another part of her gown and addressing the Princess with remarkable informality. The Queen and her entourage had disappeared deeper into the castle.

"I think now's as good a time as any," Yennefer was saying to Aella in a hushed tone, who nodded enthusiastically.

"I agree. We must make haste. Mother's gone to change into her festival clothes and she will expect the same of me before too long. Hurry," Aella said, spinning on her heels and heading for a hidden alcove under the grand staircase, "before we're spotted by a rat."

She ducked into a disguised doorway and disappeared down yet another flight of stairs. Geralt wondered how this building had ever been constructed properly, what with so many hallways and strange staircases their were. He wondered if Ciri was still practicing, as he'd told her to. He knew her affinity for exploring. She knew more of Kaer Morhen than he did now, all because she was small enough to slip into cracks that the other Witcher's merely ignored.

Yennefer went next and Geralt followed obediently. The winding stairway was pitch black, but Yennefer has produced a small ball of fiery blue light to guide them, though it was more for the benefit of herself and Geralt. Aella knew the way, even in total darkness, and waited patiently a few paces in front of them as they picked their way down the slimy stairs. They could not hear the ocean from here anymore, which seemed to the Witcher a feat in and of itself. He was not sure he had escaped the sound of it once since their arrival.

Down, down they went, following the stairs as low as they went. They passed several doors, all made of different material, some of them enchanted (Geralt's wolf medallion vibrated as they walked by) and several more were in complete ruins, burned or broken beyond repair. The rooms behind those were empty.

At the very bottom they walked a short hallways until Aella turned abruptly to the right and disappeared into the stones. Geralt blinked in the blackness and saw the faint outline of a hole in the way, barely broad or wide enough for him to fit through, but he did, and then they were walking down a dirt path instead, one that sloped sharply downward and disappeared into more blackness. He could hear the ocean again and wondered if they were going to walk all the way to it when Yennefer and Aella stopped beside a discolored patch of dirt wall. The sorceress placed her palm flat on it, closed her eyes and murmured and the dirt crumbled away to reveal a soft yellow light eminating from inside a tiny stone room.

Inside of which sat Jaskier.

The bard was entirely unfazed by the arrival of the Princess and the witch, but when his blue eyes met Geralt's yellow ones, his heart rate skyrocketed. Geralt held his accusatory gaze as long as he could before clearing his throat and gazing down as his shirt. Not for the first time, Geralt found himself glad that his mutations prevented him from blushing.

Jaskier looked away from Geralt and smiled serenely at Aella, who embraced him without shame. Even Yennefer was greeted with warmth and kindness in Jaskier's voice. Geralt's insides burned.

"You didn't tell me you'd have company, loves," Jaskier said as casually as possible. Geralt felt Yennefer's eyes flicker over to him, but he refused to look at either of them. Somehow he felt as though he were ambushed, yet also that he should have expected it.

Aella, however, seemed surprised by Jaskier's admission. "Did you not hear? My mother finally agreed that we needed help with our, ah, pest problem. Though, after today, I fear she may change her mind yet again," Aella explained, grimacing. Yennefer did not appear to like this.

"I thought the council meeting went fine! Is that not what you said yourself in the hall?" she protested. Aella nodded and shrugged at the same time.

"Well, yes. But with my mother, it's always best to expect the worse."

Jaskier nodded to this as well. "Yes. She'd just as well say to your face that you're her most valuable asset and then no sooner have you blinked than you find out that she's scheduling your hanging!" Jaskier chuckled to himself. Geralt found a small bubble of courage - or perhaps bitterness - leaking out of his lips before he could stop himself.

"Are you speaking from personal experience?"

Jaskier's smile slipped away and his teeth snapped together. Geralt kicked himself mentally. 

There was a long, uncomfortably heavy moment of silence before Yennefer cleared her throat.

"Geralt." He looked up at her. Her eyes had gone soft, almost pitying, though her voice did not betray these feelings. All the better. "I'm sorry I had to do this, but keeping you somewhat in the dark felt, er, necessary, until we had observed the Queen's reaction to your presence. She doesn't regard you as a threat, which is more than we might've hoped for. But we're still far from in the clear."

Geralt remained silent, shifting from one foot to the next. His eyes flickered between Aella and Yennefer, sliding directly over the figure in the middle. Which was just as well, as Jaskier was doing his best to appear engrossed in his fingernails. 

Aella took over, clearing her throat and standing beside Geralt. "Here is what we do know. Or at the very least, we suspect it.

"Firstly, the monster you're up against is almost certainly a doppler."

Geralt groaned and rubbed his temple. _Fantastic_.

Yennefer smiled at him. "Yes, we felt much the same. But after due consideration, it makes the most sense. The face of the dead are mutilated beyond recognition. Who does this benefit besides a monster with a purpose? Someone who wishes to take an identity and not be discovered for having disposed of the true owner of said identity? I suspect it's someone being used by Nilfgaard, someone who has been ordered to gain access to the Queen, or at the very least, the castle.

"Secondly, as you observed today, the Queen does not believe there is a single threat on the castle. In fact, she is entirely under the impression that her fortress is impregnable. Anyone with half a brain knows that is never the case. However, until the Queen can be convinced of not just one, but _every_ threat on her land, we will have absolutely no luck whatsoever gaining access to what we need."

"What _you_ need, Yen," Geralt corrected. Yennefer glared at him.

"I've chosen my words with purpose, Geralt. _You_ also, in fact, need the Queen's trust and belief. Otherwise, she'll just as soon throw you back out the gate, with no regard for what you arrived with, and suddenly Roach and all of your worldly possessions belong to the Mad Queen of Rumfort. The more she likes you, Geralt, the better off we all are. Including your precious Child Surprise. Which brings us to the third matter."

Both Yennefer and Aella stopped and gazed down at Jaskier, who's face grew pink as he felt all eyes on him. He cleared his throat grandly. Geralt rolled his eyes, but kept his head ducked so that neither of the women present noticed. 

"Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, the Queen is still in need of a legitimate heir. As it stands, she has a number of methods at her disposal, but the fastest and easiest way is... Well, if she were to get her hands on the Lion Cub of Cintra and turn her over to Nilfgaard, Queen Elara would have a host of husbands to choose from. And produce a viable heir with. There would be very little opportunity to reason with her and even less opportunity to rescue Ciri."

For the first time since his arrival, Geralt felt truly befuddled. What Jaskier had just said was true of nearly everyone on the bloody Continent, not specific to the whims of Kings or Queens. Geralt turned to Aella, his eyebrows knitted together. She smiled sadly at him.

"I have as much right to the throne on which my mother sits as you, dear Witcher. For, you see, I am the product of the Law of Surprise. My mother was unable to bear a child, despite her best efforts for many years, so when the opportunity presented itself, she jumped for the Law of Surprise, in hopes that it might procure her an heir. And in a way, it did. She was given me as a result. But the other royal courtesans..." Aella straightened her back some, her dark green eyes going momentarily darker. "They refuse to acknowledge any authority given to me, even by my Queen Mother. And as a result, in the last several years, she has been desperate to marry me off to some faraway lord so that she too may have another attempt at producing someone that will make her court happy. It will never happen." Aella added before Geralt could open his mouth to ask. "My mother is far too old to bear a child, even with Lady Yennefer's potions and elixirs."

At this, Yennefer smiled coyly. "But of course you cannot believe I'm actually trying to help her. The woman is insane. If she were actually able to produce a child, do you think it would be any more capable of critical thought? I'm not inclined to believe so."

"In any matter," Jaskier said airily, trying to seem disinterested and also as though he were addressing either of the women before him and very pointedly not looking at Geralt, "as her advisors do not acknowledge any legitimacy to Aella's claim on the throne, so has the Queen decided neither does she. And so we are left with a beloved Princess with absolutely no power, a witch who currently has the Mad Queen on a lead and must not let on to the fact that is making purposefully faulty potions nor have any understanding as to why they aren't working, all while maintaining that her presence is necessary and helpful. And a Witcher," Jaskier swallowed thickly, meeting Geralt's eyes for only a moment before fixating on Yennefer, "whose attendance to this court is almost as unwelcome as the Queen believes it to be unhelpful." Jaskier laughed. There was no humor in it. "We must be one of the shittiest coup's in history!"

"Hush," Yennefer said, not unpleasantly, placing a soothing hand on Jaskier's shoulder. He sighed and stood up abruptly, walking away from the circle to stand before a beaten down bookshelf. There were few books on it; instead the shelves were adorned with a variety of skulls and flowers in all stages of life. Jaskier picked up a withering dandelion and twirled it between his fingers. Geralt watched his back closely.

When no one seemed willing to offer anything more, Geralt prodded. "I imagine there is a plan of some kind in place. Otherwise this whole affair is for nothing and the three of us would be best packing up and leaving."

Yennefer cocked her head. "Three of us?" she asked. Geralt cleared his throat uncomfortably, eyeing Aella.

"You, me and... Pavella."

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat. He remained facing the bookshelf. Aella was looking mildly confused now, her eyes flickering from Yennefer's face to Geralt's and back again. She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, but... who is this Pavella? I was under the impression Geralt had arrived alone."

Yennefer stiffened some and her heart rate upticked. Geralt felt the smallest prick of panic on her skin and suddenly was far less at ease than before. Their only ally within the walls, it seemed, was still unfit for the entire story. That was good to know. 

"Pavella is Geralt's squire." Yen offered simply and did not elaborate. Geralt did not offer more, either, and after a quick glance between the two of them, Aella seemed to decide it was not important enough to press and changed the subject.

"Geralt. If we are to turn the tides of this war, then my mother must oppose Nilfgaard. As it stands, she feels utterly above all of this conflict, but I believe that given the right circumstances, she would bend a knee to Emhyrs. Her people are mostly royals, not farmers. She does not understand the true devastation that war can wreak, even on those who believe uninvolved. She must see that their is something among her people that is killing them and simultaneously toying with her and every royal in Rumfort. She must see that Nilfgaard is not our friend and that her true loss was when Calanthe was taken from us. And she must be led to all of these conclusions without suspicion. But as it stands Yenna and I are in no position to make our voices heard. The advisors have all but convinced my mother that Yennefer is able to speak spells of illusion with every word she utters. If she thinks she is being magicked beyond what she has specifically requested, she'll have you both killed. And I will be left alone with her." This seemed to frighten Aella more than anything. Every word of war and death had not made her shiver as violently as she did then at the thought of being alone with her mother once more.

Jaskier cleared his throat, gently placing the dandelion back in place on the shelf, then turning to face the others. His gaze slid over Geralt as though he were a crack in the wall. "If we could start wrapping up. I'm expected to attend tonight's festivities." His cheeks went slightly pink. Geralt had to look away. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach that the Witcher tried very hard to ignore.

Aella cleared her voice, her cheeks slightly discolored. "Unfortunately, we are _all_ expected at the festivities tonight."

Geralt did not pay much heed to this initially (so far it seemed to him that there was a fair amount being expected of him that hadn't been made entirely clear as of yet) but was taken aback by the reactions of his other companions. Yennefer made a loud noise of shock and distaste that Geralt knew only came with many exposures to something highly unpleasant and Jaskier squawked, his entire face turning the same shade of red as a beet. 

"I've already told your mother I'm not attending any more of these _blasted_ parties!" Yennefer shouted indignantly. Jaskier did not seem to have an argument but was just as unhappy. His gaze kept flickering to Geralt's and then back away, his cheeks staining darker and darker red. "I am here as an emissary and I'll not be _debased_ by your countries _lewd_ traditions!"

Lewd? Debased?

"I'm sorry," Geralt interjected, raising his hand as Yennefer opened her mouth to shout more, "but what exactly is this party?"

Three people stood before him yet all remained uncannily quiet, looking every variation of mildly unhappy to deeply discomfited. Aella cleared her throat and spoke first.

"It's an orgy."

***

"Please, please, _please_ , can't I come, Geralt?"

"Absolutely not." _I don't even want to, Ciri. It's not like the parties your grandmother threw._ Geralt pulled on the fresh tunic and pushed his hair back out of his face. Yennefer had allowed to argument to be made against his attendance.

_"If the Queen has said you'll be there, you'll be there. Please try not to upset her on your first day here."_

_"Believe you me, that is hardly my intention. However, I also didn't come here just to screw a bunch of wannabe-royals. You asked me to do a job."_

Yennefer has sneered at that and then exploded in Geralt's face about it was hardly what she had arrived in Rumfort with the intention of doing and how if they didn't bend over backwards to make the Queen happy they may as well say goodbye to their heads. Jaskier had remained uncharacteristically silent both during and after the ensuing arguement, then scuttled back up to the main castle before any of them had noticed he'd gone.

 _Just as well. I have nothing to say to him,_ Geralt thought, testily running a brush through his hair and accidentally ripping out a small chunk in the process.

Ciri was pouting on her bed now. "You never let me do _anything_!" she whined. Geralt had to stop himself smacking his own head against the wall. 

"If you are so desperate for entertainment, then you have my full permission to explore the castle tonight. Provided you _stay away from the great hall._ "

Ciri perked up some at this and rolled onto her stomach, eyeing Geralt with an expression of hope tinged with disbelief. "Really?"

"Really."

"Anywhere I want?"

"Except-"

"The great hall, right. Until when? Midnight?"

"You may stay out as long as you like."

Ciri launched herself out of the bed and was slinging a brown satchel over her shoulder before Geralt could say anything else. The Witcher fixed his eyes on the pack. "Where did you get that?"

"Taryn said I could borrow it. I'm going to go find him! He was telling me about ways to slip through the wall to the other side and how to climb down the cliff face to the sea!"

Geralt groaned, rubbing his temple. "All right. Ciri. Please, _please_ , be careful. And remember-!" Geralt called as the girl bolted out the door and down the hallway.

"Stay away from the great hall! IknowthanksbyeI'llseeyoulater!" And just like that, she was gone. Geralt groaned again.

He truly could not have been less interested in... well, just about anything. He rarely felt anything at all for the trouble and tribulations of royals, but he desired even less to be involved in their carnal fantasies. Yennefer and Aella had assured him it was perfectly acceptable to be a bystander and not participate, merely that the presence of all those inside the castle was required. As to why, he had no idea. It seemed the Queen was truly out of her mind.

As Geralt finished dressed and prepared to meet Yennefer outside the hall, he tried very hard not to think about the fact that Jaskier would be there, among all of those writhing, naked bodies, serenading a mess of rich bastards as they fucked their way into oblivion. For the second time that day, he was glad he couldn't blush. Jaskier's room was quiet as Geralt walked past it. 

Yennefer was in the hall already. Although Geralt was quickly noticing that most of the clothing adorned by men here in Rumfort was as simple as everywhere else, the women seemed to have an endless option of fashions to choose from. The same strange material as every other article of clothing, her shirt stopped just under her breasts, exposing a small section of midriff before being cut back off by a long skirt which was tied in place with a knot around her waist. Like everything else she wore, it was entirely black, all the way up to her obsidian choker clasped in its usual place around her neck. 

"You always did clean up nicely," Yennefer said fondly, tugging the sleeves and hem of Geralt's shirt into place. He grunted. He could hear music coming from behind the gigantic wooden doors that led into the dining hall, as well as hushed voices and the occasional gasp of pleasure. He desperately did not want to go inside, to be encased in the thrall of bodies. Yennefer squeezed his shoulder. 

"I'm not happy with it either. I attended every one of them during my first week, then politely informed the Queen I did not wish to partake any further. She did not speak to me at all the following week. It's been an uphill battle to regain her good graces."

"She has good graces?"

"Mmm. Barely."

"How often does she hold these... festivities?" Geralt asked, pulling at his collar. Neither he nor Yennefer had moved towards the door. She sighed loudly. 

"Nearly every night. She believes that this is the easiest way to maintain closeness with her subjects." Yen sniffed and looked up at Geralt. "And the longer we linger outside the more cross she will be in the morn. We'd best get a move on." Yenna slid her hand around Geralt's arm in the same way that Aella had earlier that day and gently pulled him forward, toward the looming doors. "Don't worry. We need only stay until midnight, then no one will notice if we take our leave."

Geralt stole a glance out on of the huge stained glass windows at the top of the great staircase. "Yen, it's hardly eight."

She sniffed again and held a hand out in front of her, though the wood moved away from it so that her fingers never connected with what was being pushed. "You are right, dearest Geralt, so please do your best to behave." 

And then they were surrounded.

The Witcher had expected exactly right. The merchants who toiled away in their shops during the day seemed to await this moment each night; men and women, elves and dwarves and every other humanoid imaginable were all gathered, naked as their birthing days, a veritable sea of limbs and colorful hair, of people touching one another and begging to be touched in return. Geralt walked by a group of three that were tangled together in ways he hadn't thought humans were capable of. They all looked as though they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. One of the threesome reached out as the Witcher and sorceress passed, catching one finger in the hem of his pant leg. He continued on and they did not fight him, though he thought he heard a sigh of disappointment.

This was going to be a long night.

Yennefer led them in a large circle around the throng. At the head of the table Geralt could see the Queen and the Princess, both completely naked, the Queen sipping a chalice of wine and the Princess lounging sideways in her chair, one leg thrown over the arm of it. She looked a bit bored, but grinned broadly and wiggled her fingers when she spotted Yennefer and Geralt. Yennefer waved back. Aella looked entirely at ease with the circumstances, despite the fact that she'd apologized profusely and promised Geralt he would never be expected to attend again. He supposed the comfort came from the fact that she had grown up with this in her culture, while also being forced to acknowledge how strange their way of doing things was to the rest of the world. Geralt nodded back. A random royal untangled themselves from the crowd and threw himself to his knees in front of the princess, spreading her legs apart. Geralt watched as her expression shifted as the man began to eat her out. Geralt looked away. 

Yennefer was staring at him. "It's all a bit much," she conceded to his silent inquiry. "I'll never understand how the minds of kings and queens work. I don't know that I want to."

"Hmm," Geralt said, trying to keep his eyes on the wall and out of the mess of bodies before him. 

There was no food and no where to sit, so for the next hour he and Yennefer walked a wide perimeter around the center of the hall, observing with a cool detachment the activities before them. Geralt tried very hard not to look too long or too hard at anyone's face. The more anonymous they remained, the better.

His plan - and his resolve - were going quite strong until, at nearly half ten, at which point Yennefer had turned to Geralt and declared she was joining them.

Geralt sneered at the thought. "Why?" Yennefer shrugged in return.

"I'm a bit bored and we've some time left before it would be polite to leave. May as well enjoy myself."

Geralt grunted and fixed his eyes on the floor. "Do as you please. I'll be here."

Yennefer did nothing for a moment, then shrugged again and undid the knot holding her skirt in place to reveal a very see-through set of knickers. Geralt was happy, yet again, that he could not flush. Not from arousal, but from embarrassment. He was finding this whole affair to be rather sordid. "Suit yourself," Yen called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the crowd. Geralt kept his head down.

And then he was alone.

All around him, scents, sounds and colors swirled. The air had filled with the sticky sweet smell of sweat, orgasms and incense, and the candles were burning lower and lower. Geralt stood stock still, taking it all in without watching any of them. He did not want to be here, smelling these people and their climaxes, or listening to-

With a shock, Geralt realized he could hear Jaskier over the din of the mass before him. And before he could stop himself, he found himself looking up and over the throng - Yennefer was being attended to by a large, male elf and a slim, pretty merchant lady, he saw briefly - before spotting him, seated at the opposite end of the hall.

He was one of the only ones still full dressed and, much like Geralt, he was also pointedly keeping his head down, his eyes fixated on the strings of his lute. Jaskier's voice was crystal clear and unwavering, easy to distinguish above the noise of everyone else, but his face was subdued, nothing like the performances Geralt had seen in the past. The Witcher wondered if his bard was uncomfortable with the events as he was.

_Not my bard anymore. Just a bard. A bard who has finally found his place at court._

Geralt tried to tear his eyes away, but he couldn't. Jaskier was the only familiar thing in the entire hall, the only thing Geralt could say held any semblance of normalcy during these blasted, wretched times. Geralt stared and stared, straining to hear Jaskier above all else, until the hall and all its occupants melted away, until it was just Geralt and Jaskier.

Just like before.

Abruptly, Jaskier stopped and stood up. Geralt shook his head, coming out of his reverie, and looked around. The 'party', as it had been loosely called, was still in full swing, though the size of the crowd had diminished some. It seemed folks were pairing off for the night, retreating to their respective rooms with their respective partners, to continue the night in privacy. Geralt looked around wildly. Yennefer had disappeared. The Witcher growled and looked out the window at the moon.

It was nearly one. He could have left almost a full hour prior.

Geralt cursed himself for being so distracted, picked his way back to the front of the hall (looking desperately for Jaskier, who had disappeared very, very quickly) and out into the great hall (where he tried to convince himself that he _wasn't_ disappointed that neither Yennefer nor Jaskier was standing in wait for him) and began the march back to his room.

What a disaster this whole rotten fucking town was. Geralt could not believe that Yennefer was even trying to accomplish anything at all here, that she believed for a second that this town and her efforts were worthwhile. And he was hungry, as there had not actually been a lunch or dinner serving and Yennefer had not seemed to think it important to have breakfast delivered to them.

The Witcher was so lost in his self-pitying train of thought that he did not notice when he had turned a wrong corner and he almost did not notice at all that he was walking down, deeper into the castle, rather than up, to the room he and Ciri were using and he didn't notice that there should not have been a hint of the ocean breeze or freshly laundered clothes this deep into the castle and, he definitely did not figure out all of these things at once when he rounded a corner to see Jaskier feverishly making out with one of the royals from the dining hall.

Geralt stopped short, his heart stopping right along with him, and took a half a step back so that he was shrouded by shadow. Neither Jaskier nor the man (who, Geralt realized, was the one who had attended to the Princess earlier) showed any sign that they had heard Geralt. Or that they intended to stop. 

The Witcher's blood suddenly ran inexplicably hot through his veins. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he watched the bastard take a fistfull of Jaskier's hair and yank his head back, exposing his next. And Geralt could not begin to fathom why his stomach twisted and dropped when Jaskier reacted to the treatment with a guttural moan.

Or why his dick twitched in his trousers.

Geralt's mouth felt dry as he stood, frozen, his brain screaming at him to leave. This was intrusive as it was - the pair had clearly come down here from privacy, as this was obviously where the man was staying and not Jaskier's room. As Geralt watched, the man, who had a mop of blonde hair and a rather unimpressive build, slipped a hand down the front of Jaskier's trousers, eliciting another moan from the bard, who was panting, hard, into the other man's mouth.

Doing his best to remain quiet, Geralt backed slowly down the passage through which he had emerged, his cock painfully hard against the front of his pants and blood pounding in his ear drums. He focused very hard on keeping his breathing even and to stop the shake in his hand. And when he reached the staircase down which he had come, he turned and raced as fast as his legs could carry him (which was quite fast) back up to the hallway.

He ignored what he thought was someone behind him asking if anyone was there.

_Not anymore. Not for a moment longer._

Geralt walked in a daze back up the correct sets of stairs and down the proper sets of hallways, and was standing before his bedroom door before he had even really realized that was where he was headed. For once, he wasn't worried about Jaskier being behind the door across the hall. He had proof otherwise.

A fresh wave of anger bubbled up in Geralt's gut and he pushed it back down, sneering as he slammed the door open... only to reveal Ciri climbing in through the window.

There eyes locked across the room, hers wide and pale, his narrow and dark. She swallowed. He sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

"Did you go down to the great hall?" he asked, exhausted.

"No!" Ciri squeaked. Sincerely, at least. Geralt sighed again. He was unbelievably exhausted. And still inexplicably furious.

"Fine. I don't care," he added quickly, waving a hand as Ciri opened her mouth to explain. She snapped it back shut, then slowly lowered herself in through the window onto the floor. She wasn't wearing shoes.

They regarded each other in silence. Geralt stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Ciri merely watched him, waiting to see what he was going to do next.

"I'm going to sleep," he said, finally.

Ciri nodded, slowly. "How was the party?" she asked, trying to sound polite. Geralt was so tired of trying to be polite.

"It was fine. Goodnight, Cirilla."

Without further ado, he walked past her and threw his full body weight down on his bed, much like a child having a tantrum. Ciri stood unmoving for a moment longer before picking up the large atlas she had left open earlier. The two dim candles in the room were blown out and Geralt heard the sigh of the mattress as Ciri crawled under her own covers. It was quieter than death for a moment.

"Goodnight, Geralt." Ciri's voice was barely a whisper and immeasurably sad. She didn't understand why he was so upset.

Geralt could not have told her even if he'd wanted to. He didn't understand himself. So he said nothing at all and lay very still with his eyes shut, hoping he could fool himself into thinking he was already asleep.

He lay that way all night and did not sleep a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i need u all to know that i've been working on this for like almost this whole month straight and that it was accidentally deleted no less than 6 times so if there's anything wrong with it, please consider the fact that i am tired. that is all

**Author's Note:**

> i made up the country they're in but that conflict? that's all them, baby


End file.
